


Hold on a Heartbeat

by HathorAroha



Series: Fictober 2018 [4]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: F/M, Heart Attack, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 08:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16238345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HathorAroha/pseuds/HathorAroha
Summary: Mrs Potts' husband has been doing downhill the last couple days, his heart at its final beats of his life.





	Hold on a Heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> For @fictober18 on Tumblr, with the prompt: "Don't worry, we still have time."

One day the heart is healthy, and the next it has your life quivering for mercy in its tightening grasp, pulling ribs and sinew in with its grip. Even the lungs constrict, stop, as though in shock at the heart’s sudden turn of mood, the way it twisted and jerked as though determined to fight out of its prison built from muscle and cartilage and bone. 

One early morning, Beatrice awakes with a start, the other half of her bed strangely empty. Inching a hand behind her, her fingers hit damp, rumpled sheets, her heart skipping a beat in alarm. 

_Jean…_

She isn’t sure exactly how early it is, but the world is dark and silent enough she guesses that it’s between four and five in the morning. 

She rolls over onto her back, and, even in the dark, Beatrice knows that her spouse’s half of the bed is empty. He obviously had gotten up at some point, but how long ago? The last few days are still fresh in Beatrice’s thoughts, and she tries not to imagine the worst. 

_He’s just gone to get a drink of water, or to the bathroom. That’s all._

Damp, twisted sheets, and the smell of sweat doesn’t help convince her of this, especially after what had happened a few days ago, when Chip–now a lanky boy of fourteen years old–had discovered his father collapsed in the pottery workshop, complaining of chest pains. But even despite being clearly poor of health, when Beatrice had rushed in with Chip, Jean had insisted he was fine, that he wasn’t in need of bedrest, but had to give in eventually. When Beatrice put her foot down, there was no swaying her. He was going to bed and have some rest or she would drag him to the bedroom herself kicking and screaming. It worked. 

“Make sure he stays there and rests,” Beatrice had told Chip. 

“Should we get Pere Robert?” 

“No, he’ll be fine. Just needs some rest, and he’ll be right tomorrow.” 

“ _Are_ you sure, mama?” 

“Don’t worry, we still have time.” 

Hand still gripping the empty sheets, Beatrice’s own heart stops a second as she hears what sounds like something falling heavily only a few steps down from the bedroom door. Her brain takes a second to process this bump in the night, and in a moment, she is tearing the blankets off herself, feet swinging down to the floor, not bothering to don slippers as she gets up to look for a lamp to light. She flexes her hands, stretching and curling her fingers to make them stop trembling as she yanks a drawer open and pulls out some matches to light the oil lamp on her side table. 

_Christ,_ she thinks,  _I should’ve let Chip get Pere Robert. Is Chip still asleep? Should I wake him? Where’s Jean?_

These thoughts fly and smack into each other as she lights the wick of her lamp, blowing out the match, snatching up the light as she rushes to the door. It is open, and, lifting her lamp up, she squints into the dark, looking for any sign of her husband. She’d heard that bump in the dark, and she hadn’t liked the sound of it. 

“Jean?” she finds herself whispering, “Where are you?” 

Trailing her hand along the wall of the hallway, she tip-toes over the wooden floor, her lamp lighting the way before her. Then–one of her feet bumps up against something soft–like someone’s back–on the floor, and Beatrice freezes, heart thudding in her ears. She is sure the sound of her heart would wake Chip sleeping only a couple doors away in his own bedroom. 

There is a small groan from the floor at her feet, followed by a strained whisper. 

“Beatrice…?”

“Jean!” 

She drops to her knees, putting aside her lamp, reaching to help her husband sit upright. She can feel how much weaker he is now, as her arms wind around his shoulders, leaning her head against his. Was it her imagination, or could she feel his heart stuttering under her arm wrapped over his chest? His breath comes sharp and ragged, eyes closing as he leans heavily on her, a hand weakly patting her knee. 

“You’ll…be right…love…” he rasps, breath rattling with each gasp. 

“It’s alright, you’ll be–” 

“Tell Chip…I’ll miss him too…” 

“Just hang on, we’ll get Pere Robert.” 

But he is still heavy against her, straining for another breath of stolen time he ought no longer to have. 

“Never mind…Beatrice…” 

“Just hold on a bit longer.” 

“I still…remember…:darling…remember when…” 

“When what?” 

“When I…your hand…for marriage…” 

Beatrice’s heart ought to soar at that memory, but now it drops, sinks to the depths of her soul. 

“Yes, Jean. I know. I remember what I’d said. I love you with so much of my heart there is none left to protest.” 

“And…” 

“I still do, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.”

“You’ll…survive…I know–”

A strained gasp, a shudder in Beatrice’s arms and he is limp, gone with his final breath. His hand slips, limp, from her knee to the floor. 

_He’s gone._ Her thoughts are as stilled with shock as she is, as she lowers him tenderly back on the floor so he lies on his back, his life already done. The candle in her lamp stills in the dead air of early morning, shadows flickering on the walls. 

_Chip._

She has to tell Chip. She tries not to imagine him sleeping peacefully curled up in bed, locks of hair falling over his face, his hand pillowing his cheek. Maybe she should wait. Maybe tell him in the morning. But Jean will be as dead at sunrise as he is now. And Pere Robert would scold her for not waking him soon as she discovered her husband. 

With a heavy sigh, Beatrice stands up, taking the lamp in her hand again as she shuffles to Chip’s door and pauses to take a couple deep breathes. She hates herself for having to wake Chip like this, to tell him the news, to ask him to come with her to see Pere Robert, because she cannot do it alone, and nor could he. They needed each other now, more than ever.

_I’m sorry, Chip…_

She raises her free hand and knocks.


End file.
